Day of Destiny- Spirit Versus Spirit
by Torankusu
Summary: A rewrite of a previous fic I wrote. A vignette from the perspective of Son Gohan, on the famed SSJ2 transformation. WARNING: This one deals with more mature and darker themes than a normal "Im so angry," SSJ fic. This is meant to make people think about


**Day of Destiny: Spirit Versus Spirit**  
  


  
His fault.  
  
The pain, the fear, the suffering, the tragedy of losing a world. The sheer anguish in knowing that you were too weak to prevent the loss of everything you had once held dear, everything you had one sworn to protect, no matter what the cost.  
  
Cell was surely going to kill them all. His horrors were innumerable, his strength greater than godlike, greater than anything imaginable....  
  
And it was all Son Gohan's fault.  
  
Moments ago, he had been helpless to stop the monster as it murdered Juurokugou. Innocent Juurokogou. He may have been a machine, but he was the most humane living being Gohan had ever met. All he had truly wanted was to live in peace with the animals and nature that he loved. Now he was dead. He had placed his trust in Gohan, and Gohan had failed him.  
  
Gohan had failed them all.   
  
How could he be expected to win? He was only a child! Surely, Otou-san or Vegeta-san could have done a much better job than he? Why had his father sent him? Why?  
  
_You know why,_ said the terrible voice inside him.  
  
_No, _thought Gohan. _That isn't it!_  
  
The voice laughed. _Your father sent you out here so you could kill Cell in cold blood. He sent you out here so you could use that dirty part of yourself you're so busy trying to be pure to acknowledge..._  
  
Gohan pushed those thoughs out of his mind, and shut the voice up. It was useless, anyhow. Cell had beaten them. They were all going to die.  
  
He began grinding his teeth to hold back a scream. Cell...who did he think he was? What did he believe gave him the right to exterminate a planet? A planet of living, breathing, people...people with parents and children, with lives...all about to be destroyed in some bioweapon's twisted method of a game. The sheer _wrongness_ of it nearly sent him to his knees. Cell had no right. Cell had no right....  
  
_That's it,_ laughed the voice. _Kill him. You know you can. Make him suffer.  
  
No!_ retored the youngster. _I am not like Cell! I don't enjoy killing! I don't want to cause pain.  
  
Bullshit.  
  
Shut up!  
  
_He could feel it brimming on the horizon. Everything he ever stood against...hatred, violence, bloodlust...all were surging through him now, threatening to nearly blind him with it's intensity. He wanted to _hurt _Cell, to make him suffer, to laugh as he held back the air from the creature's vile throat...  
  
_No!  
  
_He had never told his father about the dreams. Sometimes, not too rarely, in the course of the past few years, he would dream. He would dream of killing...he would dream of blood running down his hands and arms, down his lips...he would dream of a thousand battlefields, each filled with the corpses of men who had dared to stand in battle against the Demon of War.  
  
He had never told his father about those, simply, because he didn't know if his father could still love him after he did. They scared him, scared him more than he thought possible, but the thought of not being loved by his father was too much to bear.  
  
_Right. And now Cell's about to kill your father. Great job you did.  
  
_He felt it again. The violence, the urge to kill. He had it in him. The power. He had The Power to destroy this world with a gesture, The Power to kill Cell with a laugh, The Power to make a thousand realms tremble before his unholy might. He could kill Cell, be forever the strongest, and continue to pillage the stars with his Power.  
  
_NO!  
  
Face it up and accept it, kid. This is who you are. You are Violence._  
  
That couldn't be. It was against everything he had fought for in his short but tragic life...  
  
_Not everything is so clear cut, kid. You've always known that, to some extent. There isn't just the holiness of good and the depravity of evil. Aren't you proof of that?  
  
_Son Gohan could not accept such things. He knew better than to let his Power seduce him....  
  
Or was that what his father was trying to teach him?  
  
His father had never, not one in Gohan's life, advocated changing himself to suit what he believed the greater good. Son Gokou was a warrior first, and a champion of good second, and as a Saiyajin, always would be. But was his son the same? Did his human blood count for nothing?  
  
And looking upon the battlefield, the battlefield where his father had fought, where Juurokugou had died, and the battle where the fate of Chikyuu was to be decided, he knew.  
  
Son Gohan reached deep inside himself, and did the last thing he had ever wanted to do. He did the only thing he could do, to save those who needed it. He did it to follow his father's legacy.  
  
Son Gohan forgave himself.  
  
He accepted the violence and the bloodlust that coursed through him. He let the Power that they brought consume him, the desire to hurt Cell overcome him.   
  
_That's it, this is who you are, you are Violence...  
  
_No. He wasn't Violence. He wasn't Purity either. The demon inside of him, all that he had ever loathed about himself, all that he believed was horribly wrong with him, were a part of him, as much as his memories, they were a part of his very _soul_, and they always would be. They were nothing to be ashamed of. They were to be accepted and lived with, for he could no longer live without them anymore than he could his heart. He was human, yes. He was also saiyajin. He was the Earth's last, best chance.   
  
_More than that. I am Son Gohan.  
  
_He didn't even feel the blood running down his fists. All he felt was the explosion.  
  
Power erupted from Son Gohan, Power long in coming. Golden and majestic in it's brilliance, the flames covered his very being, his soul, and he did scream, he screamed with all the guilt and sorrow he felt, he screamed for himself and everyone who had ever died because he had been weak.   
  
Son Gohan, a whole Son Gohan, stood alone, golden flames enveloping his almost frail figure, the shining tears that came from a lifetime of repression being pressed into the sky by the force of his own Power.  
  
Destiny had come calling.  
  
And, in the end, Son Gohan had been there to meet it.  



End file.
